


Cryptic Diary

by ValentineRevenge



Category: Black Veil Brides, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bullying, Cutting, Eating Disorders, Gen, Self-Destruction, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRevenge/pseuds/ValentineRevenge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey Way buys a used bass bag, and inside, finds a diary he should have never seen. Will he be too late to do anything to help the author, however?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_What if the smallest things have the most profound effects on someone? Like the butterfly effect. Maybe you've heard of it. Right? You know, where they say that on this side of the world a butterfly flaps it's wings, and on the other side of the world a tsunami or some shit happens.Well whatever it is, I wanna find out who or what the hell in China or maybe Japan did whatever the hell it was to make half this shit happen._  
  
 _It's like this all the time. The smallest things set me off these days, and it scares me. If you look at me at the wrong time, or say something wrong, or even just not say anything at all, I explode. Well actually, I implode. I take it out on myself, fuck the consequences._  
  
 _I just sit there and hack at my arm or maybe my leg, and I don't give a fuck about the amount of blood I lose. I do almost anything to get my fix. It's led to me stabbing myself in the arm with a pen in the middle of class before. Nobody noticed shit, not even the teacher. I don't care that I've been hospitalized almost a half dozen times for this._  
  
 _Maybe that's the reason I do it so often, because to be honest I realized I never really had such a big problem before they started sending me to the hospital. I used to just leave little tiny scratches here and there. Now I take huge chunks of skin and meat out of the side of my leg. In fact, I had actually stopped for several months before they decided to send me away for the first time. I guess having stopped and then given that stressor, and all those pills that fucked me up just stressed me out to the point that I'm the monster I am now._  
  
 _All I know is that because of the events of the past year or two, I'm probably never going to land that job in the FBI I've wanted for years. I mightn't get any job, besides self-employed, if that, because of the records of me being hospitalized, with all this 'mental unstability' and 'depression' that they like to tag me with. On that note, I mightn't even get into college either, because my grades started going to hell with being in the hospital so much. I've missed a week easily each time, and then all the therapist and doctor appointments, I was out of school more than I was in it, always having to leave early for one appointment or another..._  
  
 _I was even told to my face by some bitchy lady that I would never get into college or a highschool that needed an interview, or a job, because of all the scars I have. That just fucking crushed me right there. And as far as my personal life goes, everyone's left because of this. Everyone. At the rate I'm going, it's never going to get fixed, and I'm probably never going to meet anyone worthwhile, who can see beyond the scars and horrible history._  
  
 _I mean come on, I look like a fuckin' rag doll! Ever seen Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas? That's pretty much me right there. Covered in a fuckload of scars instead of stitches, but what the hell? I think that's why everyone finally left. Everyone finally figured out just how disgusting and worthless and useless I truly am. I knew that one day this would happen, but even knowing in advance doesn't stop it from hurting me._  
  
 _Now, I have hell at school to deal with, and I have hell to come home to and put up with. I'm getting so sick of it I'm at the point of just taking up my old friend the knife for the last time, and just fucking stabbing myself or some shit... My own family treats me life shit over it. Not once do they ask me what the hell is wrong, why I do it, all they do is fucking insult and accuse. All they seem to want to do is shove fucking pills down my throat. At the rate it's going, they're just breaking me down mentally until there's not going to be anything left of me._  
  
 _I realize I'm already turning into a psychopath. I can't really feel anything much anymore. And the other night, I was watching this horror movie. Really gory, but I can't remember the name of it. But the thing that bothered me, was that when I saw the killer tracking down the people and killing them, I was laughing. Not because it was one of those crappy horror/humor movies, like Zombieland or some shit, and not because what the killer or victims was doing was hilarious. Just because I found it funny that he was killing them. I scared myself that night. But to be honest, I think it's better off this way, no more feelings, so I can never be hurt by anyone again._  
  
 _I think it was my family's intention of turning me into a psychopath or maybe even a killer, to have me locked away the rest of my life. And they're doing a damn good job about it. I guess that they should just be happy that I'm the kind to let people live so they suffer longer._  
  
 _Right now I just need my fucking painkillers.... This time 2 months ago, my friends used to be it. Every time I got insulted and cursed at and threathened at home, they were the ones I used to turn to. I didn't have to tell them what was going on all the time. I would just tell them something like "Tell me what happened with you this weekend." or "Soviet Russia Jokes. Now." or just sit there and listen to them talking about the newest episode of whichever Anime they were watching right then._  
  
 _I don't think that they actually realized how much they used to cheer me up. And to think that I used to care about them enough to actually want to stop. Don't get me wrong, I still care about them more than you could know, even if they hate me now. But the thing is, even when I tried to show them that I hadn't cut in months, they all told me the same thing. That it was too late now, that they'd given up on me._  
  
 _When he had told me that my scars broke his heart, even though he didn't know me when I did them, I tried my hardest to stop. To be honest, that was the only time I actually had wanted to stop ever in my life. I had tried my hardest, and failed once again, because I'm too weak. Welcome to my fucked life._  
  
The spidery writing crossed the page of the notebook that Mikey held. The felt tip pen used to write it was nearly printing through the pages. The first entry was shocking enough, prompting the boy to feel a wave of pity for the anonymous writer. And to think that he had only found it an hour before, in a guitar bag that he'd bought from a thrift store. It was a bargain, he had thought. He hadn't been able to find any bass guitar bags for cheap, and since Gerard's band was going to go on stage, and he was with them, he couldn't walk around with his bass in his hand all the time. But when he had found the perfect bag, without breaking the bank, he hadn't counted on this being in there. Even though he didn't know who wrote it, he couldn't help but feel they didn't deserve this kind of life. He wanted to help them, even if it turned out in the end the person that wrote this was his sworn enemy.


	2. Chapter 2

_6/17/2011_  
  
 _I hate coming home black and blue and purple and every fucking color in the rainbow of bruises. I really do. What the fuck gi ves them the right to abuse me like this? What gives them the ability to treat me like scum? What makes me so different from them?_  
  
 _I already live in fucking hell, so why the fuck do I gotta experience it at school? School should be a fucking escape! Fuck it, at this point, I'm thinking of jjust throwing in the towel and calling it quits. I meanfor me to be suffering like this I was probably a fucking serial killer or some shit._  
  
Mikey noticed the handwriting was much looser, yet written with more prssure and inkblots than before. Either this guy was someone else, had multiple personalities, or was just pissed beyong all fucking measure. For a moment, he figured whoever was writing it had really died and it scared him. Then, he flipped the page and was quickly reassured by the spidery writing, this time marred by big splotches, probably from tears.

_6/19/2011_

_I gave up on that fucking stupid ass summer program. I got sick of coming home feeling like a used punching bag. Of course I get a fucking lecture about it. Even when I show my so-called mother all the fucking bruises and probably broken ribs, all I hear is "Why don't you fight back" and "Why do you feel the need to stop going?"_  
  
Like I can fight back against half the fucking football team! And I highly doubt that you want to go and get beaten up not only during normal school, but also during summer school too! You much certainly be a masochist who likes to be every fucking color of the rainbow! And probably got a few broken bones too.... Fuck, I swear that at least 2 ribs are broken.  
  
The book slipped out of Mikey's sweating hands. "Fuck it." He muttered, wiping his hands off onto the bedsheets. This story was getting worse by the minute!

_6/20/2011_

_I don't even know why I started harming myself or why I stopped eating, or even why I have so much self-hatred. I've neverlike myself, even as a young child. That much I know. I've always been self-depreciating. When someone said I did a good job, I would insist that I didn't. I was always apologizing. I never felt confident in myself. But at the same time, I never asked for much. Whenever all the kids wanted a shiny new toy, I never asked for it. When they pestered their parents, I tried to help mine. I learned how to take care of myself so they didn't have to. At a young age, I learned to make my own breakfast and lunch, comb my own hair, run myself a bath, while other kids my age still needed help._  
  
I learned to do my own homework. At school, I earned top marks, and tried not to cry when the kids picked on me. It wasn't easy. They were near constant in their insults. But I didn't fight with them. I tried my hardest to be the perfect kid.  
  
But apparently I wasn't good enough. My parents didn't realize that they could have had a greedy, demanding kid who always asked for things regardless of whether or not they could've afforded it. But I think they missed that point.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Jinxx was worried about Andy. The younger man had seemed down, for the past year or so, but in the past few months, it got worse and worse. Sometime over the summer, he suggested that Andy take up journaling, saying that it might help. Andy had told him it did, but it wasn't some magic fucking cure all or anything.   
  
In fact, now that Jinxx thought about it, he had only seen Andy a few times at school, and he always seemed to be running, and hiding from someone or the other. Even though Jinxx was rarely if ever unsure, he would say that something was bothering Andy to the point that it was driving him crazy. He had tried to call and text, but Andy never answered his calls, and if he replied to any texts, which was next to never, it was short, usually one worded, and sometimes up to a month after the original message had been sent.   
  
It wasn't typical Biersack behavior, and Jinxx was determined to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. Even if he had to use a motherfucking shovel to get there. He knew that Andy had issues. In fact, pretty much everyone knew that. There was no use in pretending that he didn't. Kids picked on him about it. Jinxx would tell them off, except for the fact that any time he tried to intervene, things seemed to get worse for Andy. So Jinxx was forced to stand on the sidelines as Andy was picked on and tormented, insulted for being who he was.   
  
And while Jinxx hadn't seen Andy often, that just made the changes he saw more profound. Other people, seeing it every day, wouldn't notice it, unless comparing really wide time lapses. Jinxx could pick up on these changes on a week to week basis, considering he saw the other man all of a half dozen times a month.   
  
For starters, Andy looked like he was getting thinner, which was a problem, because he was already pretty fucking skinny as it was. In fact, he was getting to the point that he was a skeleton. This was probably the most major thing that Jinxx had noticed over the past 2 months. There were huge dark circles and bags the size your great aunt uses for traveling below his eyes. He wasn't sleeping much, if at all anymore, which said something, because Andy used to love his sleep to the point he'd take a nap every day straight out of school.   
  
Every week that Jinnx saw him, he could swear that the other man's eyes were getting more and more bloodshot. It meant Andy was crying about something again. The last time that he had cried that much, to the point where, for a period of nearly 4 months, just twitching the wrong way could set him off, the outcome of it wasn't pretty. No, it was really fucking ugly if Jinxx was going to be an honest Smellybones.   
  
While it was nearly February, Andy was still wearing his thick jackets and gloves inside the building, where they had the heat cranked up high. When the guitarist had seen him at a pep-rally in the gym, where it was the heat all the way up, plus all those people crammed together like tuna in a can, it was the same fucking thing. That could only mean one thing. It was nearly as hot as summer time inside the school building, yet Andy acted like he was out in a snowstorm, even though he was oftentimes sweating. The rare times that Jinxx had suggested taking off his jacket, he was met with a severe glare.   
  
Andy used to love texting, now he barely ever replied. He used to knit like crazy, and now you're lucky if he puts out a hat a year. He used to draw and write, until his teachers yelled at him to pay attention in class. Now, he just sits there like a fucking zombie. Walking down the hallway, or sitting next to him, or being in the same general area, even in the same bathroom, he'd usually be singing, oftentimes something by the Misfits, or Kiss, or Motley Crue. Now, he wouldn't even chirp.   
  
These were things that Jinxx had picked up on rather quickly, while other people still hadn't even noticed it, because to them, it had tapered off gradually. For the guitarist, it had disappeared all so suddenly. It was making Jinxx worried, because the last time that things got like this, it got worse. And while Jinxx and Andy still had a lot of issues left over from last time, Senor Smellybones wanted to work out the issues from the last time, before any new ones were added onto it.   
  
So a concerned Jinxx walked down the street, resolving to finally get to the bottom of this before he was too late.   
  
Little did he know that he had an ally who might be more than willing to help him, on almost the other side of town, even though he didn't know he had an ally, or even who it was, and his ally didn't know that he was going through the same thing, and probably didn't even know who he was.


	4. Chapter 4

Andy wasn't doing too well. He definitely had lost weight, as Jinxx had believed. But then again, Senor Stinkybones would have seen that a mile away, although the last time he had seen Andy was nearly 3 or so months prior. The loss had become more drastic and pronounced over the summer when he had nothing but free time to exercise and burn off all the 'fat'.   
  
The whole thing was, he didn't exactly have all that much fat. Several months prior, his BMI was hovering somewhere in the high teens to low 20's. Not super underweight, but not overweight either. He was on the slightly more slender side of average. Now, he was too skinny for how own good. He had dropped below the BMI of 18.5 – the underweight threshold.   
  
He was more than skinny. He was a walking skeleton. He weighed about the same as a short, skinny teenage girl. Not a good combination, what with his giraffe height. If he were eating, it wouldn't be so bad. Alas, he rarely did, and every bite that went in promptly came back up, into the nearest trash can, or toilet. Then, he exercised. Walking in circles around his room for hours, hundreds of situps, quick jogs around the block, and lifting and carrying objects occupied his time. He shuffled the furniture around in his room multiple times in a day just to help burn the extra calories.   
  
Even so, all he saw when he looked in the mirror was a huge fat lump. He just wanted to be perfect, or at the very least, lose the flubber. It never seemed to want to budge, making him even stricter on his 'diet', obsessively counting calories, promising himself that the next day, the number in would be lower, and the number out would be higher.   
  
  
But the truth of the matter was, Andy found the obsessive exercising and calorie counting comforting. He found it easier to concentrate on his pangs of hunger and aching bod y than to even consider letting his mind think about the rest of his life.   
  
Because the rest of his life, if it wasn't hell itself, it was a close second. In fact, the eating disorder that he had developed could easily be considered the simplest and pleasantest part of it, which was saying something massive. But at least it kept his mind busy, on things other than his life. It made him look forward to the future in a bizarre way. Like, when I get 20 pounds thinner before school starts again next year, maybe then things would start looking up.   
  
Vaguely, he felt like the eating disorder would be around for a while. But that was just fine by him, because in the oddest way, it was soothing the ache of his life. While he couldn't see it, and his family didn't care enough to tell him what they were seeing, he was headed down the path of self destruction at a break neck pace. But even if someone had told him what they were seeing, he wouldn't have changed a single goddamn thing.


	5. Pants

6/ _21/2012_  
 _I'm just so fucking sick and tired of all the BS, especially from my so-called parents. What the hell is their problem? Why the fuck did they have a kid if they were gonna treat me like this?_  
 _  
6/22/2012_  
 _They haven't let up on all the fucking yelling and screaming and the cursing and the occasional throwing of objects since yesterday. I just wanna fucking die. Right now. I can't stand any more of this for another single minute. They hate me and it's not like I have anyone outside this shithole anymore. They made fucking sure of that. Scout left me saying she couldn't stand what I was doing and my batshit insane family. Sandra, my best friend of 3 years, said she couldn't take it anymore, all that I did. Ashley doesn't even give a fuck about me anymore, he's just interested in his women. This needs to end. Maybe in pills._  
  
The handwriting on this entry was shaky and splotched with tears.  
  
"God." Mikey muttered. "The poor kid." Pausing for a moment in sielnce. What if this kid had died? He sounded pretty fucking serious about it. But maybe he wasn't dead yet!  
  
With sudden hope, he flipped the page so quickly that it ripped nearly in half. With a sigh, he breathed relief. The spidery writing continued on the other side, nearly 3 weeks later.  
 _  
7/12/2012_  
 _Finally fucking got home from that stupid ass hospital. Lost so much fucking time there I don't even wanna think about it. The place was fucking hell. Fucking pills didn't work. I shoulda used the knife too..._  
  
By now, Mikey nearly wanted to cry. He didn't even know who the fuck this guy was, but he felt the pain the other was going through. Sometimes, people like this pretended to be perfectly fine on the outside, but as shown here, they were fucking dying on the inside.  
  
Just then, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Gerard.  
  
"Hey Gee."  
  
"Hey Mikes, you ok?"  
  
"Yeah, why?"  
  
"You look like you're gonna cry."  
  
"I was just listening to this really sad song." Mikey said, gesturing to the headphones slung around his neck.  
  
"Aha." Gerard said, not thoroughly believing him.  
  
There was a tense silence between the two for several minutes, before the elder of them broke it, saying, "Me and Ray are gonna chill later."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"We want you to go."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Mikey."  
  
"Fine, lemme grab a pair of pants."  
  
But even as the young Way squirmed his way into his overly tight pants, his mind was elsewhere, mainly on continuing to read the diary, and see who it was going through this pain.  
  
When he got downstairs, the only thing Gerard told him was, "You're wearing my unwashed pants. From last week. Inside out. And backwards."


End file.
